MUMBLE  LIFB, 


THE  WIDOW. 


J'UBLIgHBD    BY    ^ERMISSION    OF    THB    AUTHOR. 


PUBLISHED  BY 


j 
< 

•i 

11 


PHILADELPHIA  CONFERENCE  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

AT  METHODIST  EPISCOPAL  BOOK  ROOMS, 
1018  AEOH  STEEET,  PHILADA. 


NOTE  TO  THE  SECOND  SERIES, 


THE  reader  may  rest  assured  these  narratXres  art 
•nbstantially  true,  as  many  persons  now  living  in  the 
neighborhood  can  testify.  The  names  mentioned  are 
real  names,  both  of  persons  and  places.  Some  of  them, 
as  in  the  former  case,  have  arisen  from  my  connection 
with  the  Chapel  for  the  Destitute. 

I  am  surprised  and  thankful  for  the  reception  given 
to  the  first  eleven  Tales,  now  constituting  the  First 
Volume — nearly  half  a  million  of  which  have  been 
sold  in  a  few  months — and  the  urgent  request  of  many 
friends  that  I  would  furnish  them  with  more,  induces 
me  again  to  dip  into  my  diary,  where  many  more  yet 
remain. 

I  am  a  tradesman,  and  make  no  pretensions  to  liter- 
ary ability.  If  He  whom  I  desire  to  serve  condescends 
to  use  me  as  a  medium  of  good  to  others,  my  earnest 
wish  will  be  realized.  To  Him  my  prayer  has  been, 
"HOLD  THOU  MY  RIGHT  HAND." 

J.  ASHWOBTH, 

t  1866. 


THERE  is  no  doubt  but  that  many  women  would 
be  a  vast  deal  better  without  husbands,  than  to 
have  such  wicked,  miserable  creatures  as  they 
are  plagued  with ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
many  children  would  be  great  gainers  by  becom- 
ing fatherless,  for  they  have  fathers  who  are  more 
to  them  a  curse  than  a  blessing.  When  I  have 
witnessed  the  misery  of  some  homes,  and  knew 
that  it  was  caused  by  the  conduct  of  those  who 
ought  to  make  these  homes  happy,!  have  thought 
that  the  best  use  we  could  make  of  some  of  our 
old  coal-pits,  would  be  to  fill  them  with  these 
torments,  providing  they  had  no  souls,  for  they 
do  not  deserve  either  a  coffin  or  a  respectable 
grave.  But  this  would  not  be  Christianity.  In 
this  world  we  shall  all  have  something  to  exer- 
cise our  charity  and  patience  ;  and  we  are  bound 
to  do  all  we  can  to  be  a  blessing  to  those  who 
may  be  a  curse  to  themselves.  Instead  of  filling 
up  old  coal-pits  with  them,  we  must  try  to  lead 
them  to  Him  who  died  for  the  vilest  of  sinners. 

But  it  is  also  true  that  many  widows,  like  the 
widow  mentioned  in  this  narrative,  are  "  widows 
indeed  ;"  left  like  the  sparrow  on  the  house-top, 
alone  ;  bereaved  of  their  stay  and  staff,  forced  to 
.struggle  with  bitter  adversity,  and  often  to  weep 
alone  over  their  hapless  condition.  And  it  is  a 

Itt  8  (1) 


2  THE   WIDOW. 

comfort  to  know  that  heaven  has  marked  out 
the  widow  for  its  special  care. 

One  of  the  noble  replies  given  by  Job  to  his 
"miserable  comforters,"  when  they  charged  him 
with  having  sent  the  widows  empty  away,  was 
that  he  had  not  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  their  cry, 
but  had  caused  their  "hearts  to  sing  for  joy." 
And  one  of  the  most  touching  scenes  in  the  life 
of  Peter,  is  when  he  stands  looking  at  the  dead 
body  of  Dorcas,  and  the  weeping  widows  gather 
round  to  show  him  the  garments  she  had  made 
for  them.  One  of  the  imperative  orders  given 
by  the  Almighty  to  the  ancient  Jews  was,  "  Ye 
shall  not  afflict  any  widow,  or  fatherless  child. 
If  thou  afflict  them  in  any  wise,  and  they  cry  at 
all  unto  rne,  I  will  surely  hear  their  cry."  And 
one  of  the  standing  tests  of  true  religion  before 
God  is,  that  we  "visit  the  fatherless  and  widows 
in  their  affliction." 

There  is  a  pleasing  sketch,  from  the  German,  of 
a  boy  who  saw  his  mother  weeping,  and,  affection- 
ately putting  his  arms  around  her  neck,  said,  "Why 
do  you  weep,  mother  ?"  His  mother  replied : 

"  I  did  not  know  you  saw  iny  tears,  my  child. 
I  have  often  wept  in  secret,  for  I  did  not  want  to 
make  you  pad  by  letting  you  see  my  sorrow  ; 
but  since  your  father  was  taken  away,  I  have 
found  it  hard  work  to  provide  you  bread  and  pav 


114 


THE  WIDOW.  6 

your  school  fee.  I  intended  to  give  you  more 
learning  before  you  began  work,  but  I  find  I  can- 
not ;  you  will  have  to  leave  school,  and  help  me 
get  food  for  yourself  and  two  little  sisters.  I 
have  got  you  the  situation  of  an  errand-boy,  and 
you  will  have  three  shillings  per  week." 

"  Well,  don't  weep,  mother;  I  will  be  a  good 
lad,  and  help  you  all  I  can,"  was  the  noble  reply. 

The  first  day  the  little  fellow  went  to  his  work, 
he  was  sent  with  letters  to  the  post-office.  He  put 
them  in  one  by  one.  The  postmaster  stood  at  the 
door,  and  the  lad  very  innocently  said,  "  Where 
do  all  the  letters  that  people  put  in  your  box  go  to?" 

The  postmaster  kindly  explained  to  him,  that 
if  he  wrote  a  letter,  folded  it  up,  sealed  it,  and 
vvrote  on  the  back  the  name  and  residence  of 
the  person  he  wished  to  receive  it,  it  would  go 
to  him,  wherever  he  lived. 

That  night  the  fatherless  boy  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing letter : 

"  To  my  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  Heaven  : 

"  My  father  is  dead,  and  my  mother  weeps,  and  ie 
sad  because  father  is  dead,  and  we  are  very  poor.  Mother  wished 
to  keep  me  to  school  a  little  longer,  but  she  has  no  money  ;  do  help 
poor  mother  that  she  will  not  weep." 

Having  finished  the  letter,  he  folded  it  up, 
sealed  it  with  some  shoemaker's  wax,  wrote 
on  the  back  :  "To  my  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in 
Heaven,"  and  put  it  into  the  post-office. 

When  the  postmaster  saw  the  letter,  he  could 

115 


4  THE   WIDOW. 

not  tell  what  to  do  with  it,  and  was  holding  it 
in  his  hand  when  a  Moravian  minister  entered 
He  showed  the  minister  the  letter,  observing: 

"  It  is  no  use  sending  this  to  the  dead-letter 
jffice  ;  I  will  open  it  and  return  it  to  the  simple 
person  that  has  posted  it,  if  I  can  find  him  out." 

The  letter  was  opened  and  read.  The  post- 
master and  minister  were  much  affected.  The 
minister  begged  permission  to  read  the  letter  at 
a  missionary  meeting  he  was  engaged  to  attend 
that  evening.  He  read  it  to  a  large  audience, 
and  a  lady  rose,  exclaiming : 

"  Oh !  that  I  knew  the  little  boy  that  wrote 
that  letter ;  he  should  go  to  school,  and  his  mo- 
ther and  sisters  should  have  bread." 

The  mother  and  child  were  both  present. 
The  mother  held  down  her  head  in  amazement 
and  fear,  for  it  was  all  new  to  her ;  but  the  little 
fellow,  all  excitement,  called  out : 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  am  here  !" 

The  good  lady  fulfilled  her  promise.  The 
boy  was  sent  to  school  again,  and  the  widow 
found  a  friend  in  need. 

Now,  I  ask,  did  not  the  contents  of  that  letter 

go  to  heaven  before  the  little  boy  posted  it  ?     I 

believe  they  did;  for  God  has  given  special  prom- 

V*es  to  the  orphan  and  widow.     This  little  story 

s  one  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  He  keeps 


THE   WIDOW.  5 

these  promises,  the  following  narrative  is 
another: 

In  my  seventh  Report  of  the  "  Chapel  for  the 
Destitute,"  in  the  month  of  June,  I  mention  hav- 
ing given  relief  to  a  widow.  During  the  last 
winter  I  received  a  letter,  asking  if  I  should  be 
at  home  the  following  evening,  and  stating  that 
the  writer  was  in  trouble,  and  wished  to  see  me 
on  a  very  urgent  matter.  I  replied  that,  having 
a  published  engagement  in  Stephenson  Street 
Chapel,  Manchester,  I  should  not  be  at  home, 
but  might  be  seen  on  the  day  following. 

I  had  forgot  the  stranger's  letter  until,  arriv- 
ing at  Stephenson  Street,  the  chapel-keeper  in- 
formed me  that  a  lady  was  in  the  vestry,  anxious 
to  have  an  interview  with  me.  On  entering  the 
vestry  she  rose,  but  was  so  agitated  that  I  re- 
quested her  to  be  seated,  and  to  inform  me,  in  as 
few  words  as  possible,  the  nature  of  her  errand, 
as  the  audience  would  soon  be  waiting.  She 
tried  to  tell  me,  but  was  so  fluttered  and  nervous 
that  she  could  not  proceed,  for  she  evidently 
feared  to  mention  the  real  object  of  her  errand. 
My  time  having  expired,  I  asked  for  her  address* 
and  promised  to  call  as  soon  as  possible. 

On  calling,  according  to  promise,  I  found  that 
the  timid  young  woman  I  had  seen  on  the  pre- 
vious evening,  was  the  only  child  of  an  aged, 


117 


6  THE   WIDOW. 

respectable,  and  good-looking  widow,  keeping  a 
vniall  shop  in  Rochdale  Road,  Manchester.  I 
was  invited  into  the  sitting-room.  The  daugh- 
ter entered  with  me ;  but  both  were*  so  greatly 
embarrassed,  that  it  was  several  minutes  before 
the  mother  could  inform  me  of  their  real  object 
in  wishing  to  see  me.  At  length  she  said  : 

"  Well,  sir,  I  think  I  ought  to  apologize  for  giv- 
ing you  this  trouble;  and  though  you  kave  kindly 
fulfilled  your  promise  in  coming,  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  begin.  But  if  you  will  let  me  give  you  a 
little  of  my  history,  you  will  then  better  under- 
stand the  request  I  have  to  make.  Are  you  pressed 
for  time?  How  long  can  you  stay  with  us,  sir?" 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  replied,  "  About 
an  hour  and  a  half." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  do  not  know  what  your  first  im- 
pressions about  us  are,  but  I  have  seen  better 
days.  I  am  of  a  good  family,  but  my  relations 
are  all  dead.  I  married  a  well  educated,  gentle- 
manly man,  a  commercial  traveller,  representing 
what  was  thought  to  be  a  wealthy  house.  But 
the  house  failed,  and  for  several  months  my  hus- 
band was  out  of  a  situation.  This  took  away 
most  of  our  savings.  He,  however,  got  another 
place,  and,  when  setting  out  on  his  first  journey 
for  the  new  house,  he  came  to  my  bedside — for 
I  was  then  confined.  Oh  !  how  well  I  remember 

118 


THE  WIDOW.  7 

that  morning.  He  had  his  overcoat  and  travel- 
ling rug  on  his  arm  ;  he  looked  cheerful,  and  af- 
fectionately bid  me  good-morning.  But  in  a  few 
hours  he  was  brought  back — dead !  He  had  just 
stepped  on  the  steam  packet,  the  boiler  burst, 
and  my  dear  Alfred  was  hurried  into  eternity  !" 

A  fresh  remembrance  of  the  awfully  sudden 
death  of  her  husband  brought  a  flood  of  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  the  poor  widow.  She  turned  aside 
her  head  to  hide  them.  For  a  moment  we  sat 
in  silence.  Thinking  to  direct  the  thoughts  of 
the  poor  woman  to  what  is  of  infinitely  more 
importance  than  the  death  of  the  body,  and  hav- 
ing an  impression  that,  in  her  case,  joy  would 
be  mixed  with  grief,  I  observed : 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  wrong  to  mourn  over 
our  departed  loved  ones.  If  we  do  not  sorrow 
as  those  who  have  no  hope,  we  have  a  bright 
spot  in  the  cloud-." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is  that  which  gives  me  the  deep- 
est pang,  and  makes  my  keenest  sorrow.  My 
Alfred  was  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  but  he  was 
not  a  Christian.  And,  believing  as  I  do,  that  as 
death  leaves  us,  judgment  will  find  us — for  our 
Saviour  plainly  tells  us  we  must  be  born  again, 
or  we  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God — believing 
this,  and  my  dear  husband  being  cut  off  as  he  was — 
al  most  killed  me .  For  many,  many  days  I  refused 


8  THE   WIDOW. 

to  be  comforted,  for  I  feared  that  to  him  it  was 
a  double  death,  I  had  no  bright  spot  in  the  cloud. 

"  But,  once  or  twice,  a  little  hope  hovered  over 
my  inind.  I  then  began  to  pray  that  the  Lord 
would  let  the  soul  of  my  Alfred  corne  back,  to 
tell  me  if  he  was  happy.  For  this  I  prayed  in- 
cessantly. I  refused  to  let  my  room  be  lighted 
in  the  night,  expecting  and  believing  he  would 
be  allowed  to  come  back,  and  tell  me  he  was 
saved.  Every  evening  I  tried  to  prepare  my 
mind  for  the  meeting,  for  I  truly  believed  he  was 
coming.  And,  at  last,  come  he  did!  perhaps  not 
really  and  truly,  but  to  me  it  was  really  and 
truly — call  it  a  dream  or  what  you  will.  He  was 
dressed  just  as  he  was  on  the  morning  he  came 
to  my  bedside  to  take  leave  of  me,  his  overcoat 
and  travelling  rug  on  his  arm.  He  looked  me 
in  the  face,  with  a  look  of  sorrow,  and  said,  *  So- 
phia, you  should  not  have  done  this.  Why 
disturb  me,  why  not  submit  to  your  fate  !  Your 
prayers  and  tears  are  of  no  avail  for  me  now.' 

"  With  a  calmness  which  now  appears  to  rne 
amazing,  I  answered,  '  Alfred,  my  own  dear 
Alfred,  do  tell  me.  Are  you  happy  ?  Do  tell 
me  this  before  you  go  back !' 

"  With  the  same  look  of  sorrow,  but  in  a  lower 
and  sadder  voice,  he  replied,  '  You  know  how  I 
resisted  the  strivings  of  God's  Spirit.  I  might 


120 


THE    WIDOW.  9 

have  been  saved.     I  have  had  ten  thousand  offers 
of  mercy,  and  rejected  them  all.     Farewell !' ' 
Here   the   mother   paused,   and   for  several 
minutes  we  again  sat  in  silence  ;  then  turning  to 
me,  she  said  : 

"Mr.  Ashworth,  do  you  know  of  any  book 
that  has  been  written  with  the  object  of  giving 
comfort  to  those  who  are  convinced  they  have 
dear  friends  or  relatives  in  perdition  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  such  a  book  could  be  writ- 
ten. The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  will  do  right, 
and  to  believe  that  He  will,  is  the  only  ground 
on  which  a  smitten  soul. can  find  any  repose. 
To  believe  that  God  is  infinitely  holy,  and  true, 
and  righteous  in  His  dealings  with  us,  ia  the 
only  thing  that  can  teach  such  mourners  as  you 
to  say  'Amen  '  to  His  mysterious  doings." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  you  are  right.  Neverthe- 
less, it  is  very  sad.  I  have  often  had  a  wish 
that  I  might  be  allowed  to  take  my  husband's 
place  in  hell,  if  he  be  there,  providing  his  dear  soul 
might  go  to  heaven,  for  I  could  always  better  suf- 
fer my  self,  than  see  the sufferingsof  those  I  love." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  alone  in  that  feeling,'* 
I  replied  ;  "  but  what  did  you  do  for  bread  after 
your  husband's  death  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  a  very  infirm  relative,  who  was 
both  able  and  willing  to  pay  for  being  carefully 


10  THE   WIDOW. 

nursed,  hearing  of  my  desolate  condition,  came 
to  reside  with  me,  and  for  several  years  I  was 
able  to  keep  on  my  house ;  but  the  relative  dying, 
I,  not  being  able  to  get  another  lodger,  sold  part 
of  my  furniture,  and  with  the  proceeds  opened  a 
small  shop.  For  many  years  I  worked  hard, 
night  and  day,  for  a  bare  subsistence.  Yet, 
careful  as  I  wa^,  I  got  a  little  in  debt.  To  pay 
this  off,  I  sold  more  furniture,  and  my  husband's 
gold  watch.  About  this  time,  the  shop  I  occu- 
pied was  sold,  and  my  new  landlord  raised  my 
rent  so  high  that  I  could  not  possibly  pay  it.  I 
removed  to  Rochdale  Road,  and  again  was  nearly 
making  bread,  when  the  cotton  famine  almost 
destroyed  my  custom,  and  every  month  I  found 
we  were  going  down. 

"  Had  my  daughter's  health  been  good,  so  that 
she  could  have  learned  some  suitable  business, 
perhaps  we  might  have  done  better,  but  from  a 
child  she  has  been  very  delicate.  A  slight  cold 
will  confine  her  to  bed  for  weeks ;  and  the 
knowledge  of  her  weak  state,  and  our  continual 
struggling  to  make  ends  meet,  often  makes  her 
very  dejected.  We  never  have  any  of  what  we 
call  luxuries.  We  live  very  cheaply  and  very 
bare,  and  perhaps  this  makes  against  the  health 
of  my  child,  but  we  must  do  so. 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  come  to  the  part  we  wished 


THE   WIDOW.  11 

to  see  you  about.  During  the  last  seven  years, 
we  have  lost  ground  by  little  and  little,  until  I 
now  owe  two  tradesmen  more  than  I  can  pay. 
To  some,  what  I  owe  would  seem  a  mere  trifle, 
but  to  me  it  is  a  great  sum.  About  six  months 
since,  I  promised  to  pay  them  all  on  or  before 
the  21st  of  June  next,  and  have  done  all  I  can 
to  fulfil  my  promise.  The  time  is  near  at  hand, 
and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  keep  my  word.  This 
greatly  distresses  me  and  my  daughter.  We  have 
wept  much  and  prayed  much  over  the  matter, 
for  we  believe  in  the  goodness  and  providence  of 
God,  and  trust  we  are  both  His  spiritual  children. 
If  we  are  unable  to  keep  on  the  shop,  and  our 
goods  be  taken,  what  shall  we  do?  for,  humanly 
speaking,  we  have  not  one  relative  or  friend  in 
this  wide  world  to  whom  we  could  look  for  help. 
"  A  few  weeks  since,  I  was  reading  your  book, 
•Strange  Tales  from  Humble  Life,'  and  especially 
that  narrative  called,  '  Twenty  Pounds  ;  or,  the 
Little  Prayer.'  While  reading,  I  was  astonished 
to  find  such  a  clear  description  of  our  own  condi- 
tion. After  reading  it,  I  said  to  my  daughter, 
*  If  there  be  help  for  us  in  this  world,  I  have  an 
impression  it  will  come  through  the  writer  of 
this  book.'  We  talked  much  about  you,  and 
earnestly  sought  for  Divine  guidance,  and  the  re- 
sult is  the  letter  we  sent  you.  I  feel  ashamed, 
'And  again  make  an  apology  for  troubling  you." 


123 


12  THE    WIDOW. 

Having  now  become  acquainted  with  the  be- 
reavements, trials,  and  struggles  of  the  two  truly 
respectable,  and,  I  thought,  pious  creatures,  that 
sat  in  silence  waiting  my  answer,  I  found  it  was 
my  turn  to  become  thoughtful.  Eighteen  pounds 
would  pay  all,  and  establish  their  credit  with 
their  tradesmen.  The  cotton  famine  was  nearly 
over,  and  this  sum  might  save  two  deserving 
creatures  from  misery  and  ruin.  What  shall  I 
do  ?  Yes,  what  shall  T  do?  I  have  no  eighteen 
pounds  to  spare.  I  have,  every  year,  hundreds 
of  cases  of  distress,  but  I  relieve  them  with  very 
small  sums,  and  this  sum  would  relieve  many 
such  cases.  These  were  my  thoughts,  and,  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  and  fearing  to  cruoh  all 
their  hopes,  I  at  last  said : 

"  Well,  you  must  excuse  me  giving  you  no 
answer  at  present.  I  have  a  few  wealthy  friends, 
who  might,  if  they  knew  of  your  case,  give  me 
something  to  help  you.  One  of  them  has  a  long 
knitted  purse,  one  end  of  which,  he  says,  spe- 
cially belongs  to  the  Lord,  for  He  gives  by  rule, 
and  gives  much.  Sometimes  he  tells  me  the 
Lord's  end  is  getting  rather  full,  and  asks  me  if 
I  have  any  real  cases  of  need.  I  will  see  this 
good  man,  and  ask  him  how  his  purse  is  and  let 
you  know  early." 

With  this  promise  they  both  seemed  very 
well  satisfied,  saying,  that  whoever  might  i\n*\ 

124 


THE   WIDOW.  13 

the  money,  they  would  gladly  return  it  when 
able. 

I  saw  my  friend  with  the  two-ended  purse, 
hut  was  sorry  to  find  both  ends  just  then  were 
empty ;  but  I  was  sure  he  had  his  own  good 
reason  for  having  given  his  all,  for  he  gave  much, 
and  much  comes  to  him  to  give. 

I  wrote  to  say  that  the  purse  was  empty,  but 
lest  they  should  despair,  promised  to  call  and 
see  them  again. 

On  Sunday,  the  18th  of  June,  I  had  an  en- 
gagement at  York  Street  Chapel,  Hey  wood .  The 
day  was  very  hot.  Passing  the  house  of  one  of 
my  friends,  residing  betwixt  Rochdale  and  Hey 
wood,  I  called,  requesting  they  would  allow  me 
to  bathe  my  hands  and  face  in  cold  water.  I 
was  shown  up-stairs  into  the  bath-room.  When 
I  came  down,  the  lady  of  the  house  said  : 

"Mr.  Ashworth,  I  have  just  been  reading  to 
my  husband  your  narrative  of  '  Twenty  Pounds  ; 
or,  the  Little  Prayer,'  and  he  thinks  it  was  a 
very  timely  deliverance  for  old  Mr.  Gadsby,  and 
so  think  I." 

That  moment  a  very  strange  sensation  came 
over  me,  for  I  felt  God  was  at  work  for  the 
fatherless  and  widow. 

"  Indeed,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  a  little  tale  to 
tell  you  about  another  person  that  has  been 
reading  that  narrative  ;"  and  at  once  I  told  them 


14  THE   WIDOW. 

all  about  the  poor  suffering  creatures  in  Roch- 
dale Road.  They  both  heard  me  with  the 
greatest  interest,  and  one  of  them  said: 

"  But  surely  you  are  not  going  to  find  them 
the  money,  are  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  I  replied.  "  My  Bible 
says,  '  Blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor, 
for  the  Lord  will  remember  him  in  the  time  of 
trouble/  If  I  live,  I,  no  doubt,  shall  have  trou- 
ble. Yet  it  will  be  a  great  consolation  to  feel 
and  knowthat  the  Lord  will  not  forget  me  then." 

For  a  moment  both  of  them  looked  very 
thoughtful,  and,  my  time  having  expired,  I  shook 
hands  and  left  them. 

On  the  morning  of  the  20th  of  June,  I  awoke 
much  earlier  than  usual,  for  I  had  been  much 
troubled  in  my  sleep  by,  as  distinctly  as  a  dream 
can  be  distinct,  seeing  mother  and  daughter  in 
greater  trouble  than  ever.  I  at  once  saw  I  must 
immediately  decide  what  to  do,  and  I  did  deter- 
mine to  advance  the  eight  pounds  for  one  of  the 
creditors,  and  see  the  other,  and  request  him  to 
wait  another  six  months,  and  I  would  see  that 
he  did  not  lose  his  money.  This  I  determined 
to  do  that  day. 

On  opening  my  letters,  on  the  morning  I  was 
going  to  see  the  distressed  wido\v,  one  of  them 
was  from  the  house  I  had  called  at  on  the  Sun- 
day,  and  read  as  follows : 

123 


THE  WIDOW.  15 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  After  you  left  on  Sunday,  we  could  not  help  think- 
nig  of  the  two  poor  creatures  you  mentioned.  It  would  be  a  very 
sad  thing  for  them  to  be  turned  out  of  their  living,  and  I  write  to 
say  we  will  furnish  you  with  ten  pounds.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as 
to  convey  it  to  them?  The  Lord  bless  you." 
"Yours  truly, 

On  reading  this  letter,  I  thought,  Yes,  God 
lives !  He  lives !  He  lives,  and  is  a  Father  to 
the  fatherless.  A  Judge  to  the  widow  is  God  in 
His  holy  habitation.  Leave  thy  fatherless  chil- 
dren and  I  will  preserve  them  alive,  and  let  thy 
widows  trust  in  me.  Yes,  He  lives,  and  blessed 
is  the  man  that  maketh  the  Lord  his  trust. 

Some  say  this  was  a  singular  chance  or  acci- 
dent ;  a  case  of  remarkable  good  luck.  [Indeed, 
people  that  believe  in  luck,  chance,  and  accident, 
are  very  inconsistent,  if  they  pray.]  Such  persons 
heed  not,  or  believe  not,  in  an  all-seeing,  wise,  and 
superintending  Providence.  A  sparrow  falls  not 
to  the  ground  without  God's  notice,  and  He  tells 
His  children,  that  the  very  hairs  of  their  head  are 
numbered;  and  urges  them  to  call  on  Him  in  the 
day  of  trouble,  and  He  will  deliver  them.  The 
doctrine  of  luck  is  the  doctrine  of  the  fatalist. 

That  day,  on  entering  the  little  shop  in  Roch- 
dale Road,  the  daughter  was  standing  behind  the 
jounter,  and  seemed  unusually  calm;  and  I  had  an 
impression  some  one  had  been  with  help.be fore  me. 

''You  seem  more  cheerful  to-day;  have  you 
got  out  of  your  difficulty  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  sir,"  was  her  reply.     "  I  always  feel 


16  THE  WIDOW. 

happy  when  I  see  mother  so.  She  is  very  much 
lifted-up  with  more  than  a  conviction  that  we 
are  to  have  help  to-day."  Then,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  she  said : 

"  I  never  saw  my  mother  so  earnest  in  prayer, 
and  so  long  on  her  knees  as  she  was  last  night. 
On  rising  she  smiled  at  me,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  say- 
ing, 'Oh  !  how  happy  I  feel!  the  Lord  has  really 
heard  my  prayer,  and  we  shall  see  it  very  soon.' ' 

When  the  mother  came  into  the  shop,  I  laid 
the  money  down.  She  looked  first  at  the  money, 
then  at  her  daughter,  then  at  me  ;  then  folding 
her  hands,  she  calmly  said,  "  The  Lord  did  not 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  cry  of  the  widow." 

I  left  the  little  shop  of  the  poor  but  now  ex- 
ceedingly happy  mother  and  daughter,  thank- 
ful that  my  Lord  had  honored  me  by  making 
me  the  medium  through  which  He  had  sent  help 
to  His  needy  children,  and  wishing  that  the  rich 
in  this  world's  goods  did  but  know  how  much 
real  pleasure  they  forego  by  not  honoring  the 
Lorc^  with  their  substance.  Many  of  them,  I 
know,  often  feel  the  joys  of  doing  good  ;  and  to 
io  good  is  a  real  joy.  These  have  the  blessing 
Df  Him  who  has  said,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  to. one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren, 
ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  And  they  will  also 
have  the  blessing  and  the  prayer  of  many  a  suf- 
fering one,  many  an  orphan,  and  many  a  WIDOW. 

128 


LIBRARY 


STRANGE  TALES  FROM  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

BY   JOHN    ASHWORTH. 


Fine  Edition,  Four  Series,  cloth,  limp.  The  First  and  Second, 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  boards,  or  extra  cloth,  gilt 
edges,  vrith  steel  portrait  of  the  Author ;  also  Third  and 
Fourth  in  one  rolume,  gilt  edges. 

These  remarkable  Tales  are  still  kept  as  Tracts,  of  which 
nearly  Three  Millions  have  already  been  sold. 

FIRST  SERIES. 


1.  Mary;  ft  Tale  of  Sorrow. 

2.  Th«  Dark  Hour.  [Men. 
8.  A  Wonder ;   or,   The  Two  Old 
4.  Sanderson  and  Little  Alice. 

6.  Wilkins.  [and  II. 

•  *  7.  The  Dark  Night.      Parts  I. 


8.  Joseph  ;  or,  The  Silent  Corner, 

9.  My  Mother. 

10.  Niff  and  his  Dogs. 

11.  My  New  Friends. 

12.  My  New  Friends. 

13.  My  New  Friends. 


Part  I. 
Part  II. 
Part  HI. 


SECOND  SERIES. 


14.  Mothers.  [Prayer. 

15.  Twenty  Pounds;  or,  The  Little 

16.  All  is  Well. 

17.  My  Uncle;  or,  Johnny's  Box. 

18.  Old  Adam. 

19.  Ellen  Williams. 


20.  Trials. 

21.  Answered  at  Last. 

22.  Priscilla.  [Step. 

23.  Julia ;  or,   The   First   Wrong 

24.  No  Cotton. 

25.  My  Young  Ragged  Friends. 


THIRD  SERIES. 


26.  Th«  Lost  Curl. 

27.  Emmott. 

28.  The  Widow. 

29.  Sarah ;  or,  "  I  Will  have  Him ! ' 

30.  My  Sick  Friends.    Part  I. 
SI.  My  Sick  Friends.    Part  II. 


32.  George. 

33.  James  Burrows. 

34.  Jokn  and  Mary. 

35.  A  Sad  Story. 

36.  Lucy's  Legacy. 

37.  Ed»und. 


FOURTH  SERIES. 


88.  The  Golde*  Wedding. 

39.  William  the  Tutor. 

40.  Fathers. 

41.  Little  Susan. 

42.  Old  Matthew. 

43.  Old  Abe. 


44.  Milly. 

45.  The  Fog  Bell. 

46.  Mrs.  Bowden. 

47.  Happy  Ned. 

48.  Harry. 

49.  A  Dancer. 


WALKS    IN    CANAAN. 

By  same  Author.    304  pages,  with  7  full-page  illustration*.    Cloth,  or 
•itra  cloth,  gilt  edges. 


s^V'Mr.  Ash  worth's  Tales  and  Books  are  above  my  praise;  they  are 
circulated  I  believe,  not  by  thousands,  but  by  millions,  and  the  result 
is,  that  the  name  of  John  Ashworth  is  a  Household  Word,  not  only  in 
the  lordly  halls,  but  in  the  lowly  homes  of  England." — Dr.  Quthrie. 


